Cardiff is my homeslice

Well, Australia’s all over. Surprise! The not-dinosaur-friend and I flew back to the UK a few months ago. Lots of things have happened but the NDF and I are happily settled now. Hooray!

I’ve been wondering for a while now if I am, after all, a dinosaur of very little adventure. I went to the big badlands of Australia (cue inappropriate song for those who know it) but now I am back home where I started in little old Wales.

But then I thought, this is where I started. This is my LIFE! And what’s more exciting than life, right? Life is an adventure! And besides, I bet I could tell lots more exciting stories about Cardiff then I ever could about Melbourne. My big adventure in Australia was very interesting, but it wasn’t as big an adventure as I thought it was going to be. Turns out, being a three inch dinosaur in Wales is every bit as thrilling as being a three inch dinosaur anywhere else in the world.

So here I am to say that I’M BACK BABY.

Look, even the sky is happy that I’m back. That never happens. It’s raining now and it was raining this morning, but for the short while that my scaly tail came outside to take some photos the sun shone down on me.

But let’s be serious, I’m way more good looking than a patch of sky. Oh, and the NDF has taught me to knit. I’m helping her make squares for a blanket. Cool, right?

And you know, for a small rental house in the middle of the city with a concrete back garden, I’m pretty happy here. Look, the garden comes complete with…

A rusty pickaxe! Useful for breaking up two tonnes of rotting wood, spider nests and centipedes.

 

A fun climbing tree!

 

A grapevine, mmm. It’s not ours, so we can’t use it, but still.

 

And of course a million bikes, because no house is complete without bicycles.

A world of endless wonder awaits me as I live my life in this city and I look forward to seeing what it will hold. However I’d now like to take a few minutes to pay homage to a dear friend of mine who recently got incinerated for the sake of Doctor Who.

Oh my dear lady friend,
I watched your bitter end
On a large television screen –
I wept for you, my queen,
As first you belched up the new Doctor
And they made you look like a monster
(Here let’s gloss over the fact
That they made you look big and fat;
Several sizes larger than your true form
A few million years ago)
The blue box in your throat
Was not, and I quote,
“A tasty midnight snack,”
But rather Capaldi’s route back
To his childhood idol
(Who might be homicidal?
The BBC won’t tell us yet
They want to let us doubt and sweat).
Anyway, my dear, I want to pay tribute:
The flames that engulfed you
Were not your fault, at all.
From your toes to your head,
I’m sorry you’re dead.

Rest in peace, my sweet. Or in pieces.

Cake down under doesn’t count

The other day I was taught how to make lamingtons. What on earth are lamingtons? Exactly. Nobody knows. Australia’s weird.

It turns out they’re sponge and jam, covered in chocolately-ish sauce, then covered again in coconut. They’re also huge, twice the size of the afternoon tea dainties that you’d normally associate with “cup of tea and a cake”; which begs the question, where are the fat Australians? Because they’re totally not, and I can only assume that this is because the extra UV down here burns away any and all calories obtained via cake.

Conclusion: While in Australia, eat cake.

Nomnomnomnom

To beard or not to beard, that is the question

Question: is it better to be a superhero or a lumberjack?

I wouldn’t normally ask, but today I’m torn. You see, I got this wicked cool present in the post from the UK this week that absolutely delighted me. The not-dinosaur-friend simply sat on the sofa reading a poem about trees while I immediately put on my cape and started running around the living room.

It’s quite a flattering colour, don’t you think?

The thing I like most about this cape is that it’s like a cape/cloak double whammy depending on how you’re feeling that day. You could nerd it up and write computer code in your superhero cape, saving the day and proving that nerds really are the ones that the rest of the civilised world depends on. Or, when your geek fancy takes you the other way, it’s definitely warm and sturdy enough to be a cloak, enabling you to journey through treacherous mountains and suspicious tribal villages with your sorcerer’s staff, reigniting the laypeople’s belief in the true higher powers of the world, protecting them from evil and devoting your life to overcoming the villainous wizard traitors of the world who want more power than they can handle.

What I mean to say is, the cape/cloak is the perfect encapsulation of every scifi and every fantasy dream I have ever held. Plus, you know, I look super fit in it.

I was really disappointed when the NDF finished reading the poem and card and read the postscript which said “PS. put the loops over your ears!” I didn’t want to lose my superhero/magical wizard abilities, obviously, and was reluctant to give my cape over to her to try out whatever it was actually supposed to be used for.

But man oh man, I wasn’t expecting it to be quite as awesome as it was when she put it on her face. It was a beard – not a stupid rubbish one that has gaps everywhere and doesn’t blend in with your hair or cover your chin, but a seriously wicked cool fitted beard that sticks to your face and goes underneath your chin and makes sure to give you a little moustache and all.

My bud Bobby wanted a go too, and he was kind enough to let me take a photo with him.

He’s also a bit of a hottie. He doesn’t know it, but I’m his wingman, so if you give me a shout I might be able to hook you up.

Anyway, that was really fun, but do you see how I’m now really torn? Obviously I love being a scifi genius and/or fantasy hero; but on the other hand that beard is WICKED cool.

Vote?

Poor dirty unicorns

You know that thing about fairies being too small to feel more than one emotion at a time? I’m not like that. For one thing, have you had a look at how teeny tiny and delicate fairies are? Trying to feel more than one thing at once would be enough to snap a fairy in half and tear out its heart.

Dinosaurs aren’t made that way. I’ve got tough leathery skin over every inch of my body, I’ve got feet that run for miles (for miles), sharp teeth and little arms that, whilst they can’t do much, are nevertheless important to my general balance and clawing at tree branches. I am fully capable of dealing with multiple issues and handling them all well.

Sometimes it’s hard not to resent fairies still; I wish I was magical. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? I would love to be able to wave one shimmering claw at the sky and for my gesture to sweep through the clouds like a lawnmower, blazing a trail of crystal blue through the grim murkiness. I’m not entirely sure where I stand on the whole flying thing, I usually enjoy having two feet and a tail on the ground, but I think I’d be willing to give it a shot.

Maybe a unicorn would be a more fitting choice of magical creature. I’d have to deal with the shenanigans with the hooves but I’d still get to live on the earth and run through the dirt. Do unicorns get dirty? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a unicorn that isn’t dazzlingly radiant with resplendent glamour and impeccable hygiene. Maybe the dirty unicorns get kicked out of the club, their horns taken off them and told to mingle with the natives. Act normal.

A centaur? But then you’re half human, and humans have so many stupid feelings all the time. Half of them never get anything done because of it.; although it could be hoped that the instincts of the horse half would balance out the fleeting irrationalities of the human half. And it would be neat to be so nifty with a bow and arrow. Then again you’d have wandering travellers who got lost in the forest seeking you out all the time so you could read the stars for them and guide them home. Nah, that’s a bother.

Actually I think I’d just like to be me, but with magic. And the added ability to find good trees whenever I feel like it, not just every five weeks or so on an accidental Sunday morning.

Not nearly decent enough.

Size matters

You thought I couldn’t one-up dinosaur stamps, didn’t you? Oh you. Suspend your disbelief for a moment and take time to appreciate that for a six inch dinosaur in a country 2.97 million square miles big, anything is achievable and every victory will be mine.

But this isn’t just a size thing. Actually it is, but it’s not just because I’m small. I’ve honestly found something really, genuinely big, something so unbelievably wonderful that no matter what I say here your mind will still be blown when you see it.

There are very few things that get better as they get bigger. Think of a few of your favourite things. I’m thinking of chickens. Now scale them up ten times or so.

A twenty foot chicken chasing me and pecking at my tail while I flee in terror is not what I wanted from this scenario. You know what other things don’t get better as they get bigger?

Whiskers on kittens. Who needs to be tickled by something longer than a grown human man?
Warm woollen mittens. The only way they’ll keep you warm is through the exhausting effort of pulling a dead weight of one hundred pounds of rain-soaked wool with you everywhere you go.
Crisp apple strudels. Yeah thanks, my dessert’s rotting in the back garden because the family couldn’t get through it all on Christmas day and it was too big to fit in the skip.
Schnitzel with noodles. Because we’ll have no giant schnitzels around here (STOP IT YOU).
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Little girls in disturbingly perfect outfits are creepy enough already without raging around a city like Godzilla.
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes. Man, have you seen a close up micrograph of a snowflake? Those things would crush your face in a heartbeat if you supersized them.

There are some favourite things that should never be tampered with, as we have now discussed. But hands up – I’d say claws up but I’m the only dinosaur around here these days. Everyone I love is dead. I’m alone.

I mean, hands up, whoever has a better favourite thing than everything listed above. Yeah, get those hands up. Raise it to the roof! Holla at your computer screen! Dance like a robot dinosaur if you’ve got the hots for Nutella!

What’s Nutella got to do with Australia?

Everything.

EVERYTHING.

Because only in Australia have I ever seen this happen.

lookIfoundagianttubofNutellathisisthebestdayofmylifenothingcanevertopthisachievementIamsetforlifeforever

Wait wait wait. A lot of you have never met me and I’m not convinced that you’re aware of how big I am. This isn’t regular Nutella guys. GUYS. You’ve got to check this out. Courtesy of the charming hand of the lovely not-dinosaur-friend, I give you The Gift Of Perspective.

I’m not kidding this pot is as big as about three of her hands (I wish she had three hands, she’d be so much more awesome).

Look, it’s so big it has a BUCKET LID!

This is not a fake.

I’ve dreamed so many dreams about living in chocolate but this is not a dream. This. Is. Not. A. Dream.

I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS FOR REAL.

Surprise dinosaur news!

Alrighty alrighty I AM SORRY, really.

It’s been a long time since this blog last updated and that’s mostly because the not-dinosaur-friend and I usually work together and she types for me. But she’s had a lot going on and it looked like she had a lot in her head, so I didn’t want to disturb her with little dinosaur thoughts.

On another NDF-related note, I have just turned around to find that she has drawn a moustache on her face and accidentally rubbed half of it off onto her shoulder. It’s a good thing we’re not going out today because I don’t think I can trust her alone (I don’t know why she wanted a moustache. It wasn’t even a very good one).

But on a dinosaur-related note, I’m going to make up for my long absence from blogging by telling you about the most wonderful thing that I have found in Australia in the last four months.

Are you ready?

Are you ready?

Oh man, let me just tell you, Australians may jiggle up and down with their merit points on my chart of Acceptable Dinosaur Friendly Countries In The World, but I think this has just ensured them a permanent, lifelong spot in my top ten.

Do you know how kind, and welcoming, and vivacious, and interesting, and enthusiastic and… well, so many characteristics that a country has to be to include dinosaurs in a national administrative system? Someone with a suave outfit and honours before their name has got to decide somewhere down the line that they are going to use their officiate powers for good and bring heart to the nation. Someone somewhere has decided that smiles are more important than fancy looking crests and Latin words.

Someone, somewhere, decided to introduce these bad boys:

Aren’t they BEAUTIFUL?

Seriously, look at these things. Look at them. I don’t know if you can read it, but the one on the left is a Koolasuchas, and the one on the right is a Diamantinasaurus. Which, through no association whatsoever, is coincidentally my favourite word for the week – nay, month.

I am way too excited about this to take just one picture, so I went on an adventure round the house and took some more inspiring photos of dinosaur postage stamps that weren’t propped up in front of a bathroom sink.

I really wanted to caption that photo ‘roses are red, violets are blue, I’ll stick these dinosaur stamps to me with their backside glue.’ But the NDF kept saying that a) those aren’t roses, b) the rhyme isn’t very good, and c) it sounds a little bit rude. Which I think is an entirely inappropriate assumption to make because if the backsides of stamps cause you to misbehave then I really don’t want to hear about how you live your life.

And here’s me and my dinosaur stamps (aka new BFFs) on a beautiful Indian scarf. Incidentally I know nothing about the dinosaur history of India, perhaps that should be my next investigation?

Dinosaur Sherlock sees great potential here.

Tony’s guide to Australian sun

Summer is nearly officially here down under. In light of that (I’m so punny it hurts sometimes) let’s talk about the sun.

How to get a tan in Australia do horrific damage to your skin in Australia

1. Go to the beach work in the forestry department.

2. Lounge casually on the sand walk around for eight hours in a plantation with heavy porometry equipment strapped to your torso.

3. Wear a little bit of sunscreen so you don’t hurt the next day but will look browner than a very brown thing wear three times as much sunscreen as you usually would  so that you don’t burn quite as badly. Accept that your skin will still hurt this evening.

4. Strategically cover yourself with an even coat of sunscreen foolishly miss out triangles on your wrists so that you wake up the next morning looking like you’ve been chained in red hot medieval shackles.

5. Take breaks in the shade make sure to take all of your measurements during the hottest parts of the day to get the readings you need for your experiment.

6. Have a day of rest to stop yourself getting heatstroke do it all again the next day when the temperature increases by five degrees and the UV ratings have doubled.

That being said, the best way not to get sunburnt is to be a dinosaur and be covered in scales. So when the not-dinosaur-friend and I are out in the field plantation taking measurements on trees like this

with equipment that looks like this

then she’s all like ‘oh Tony I’m burning so badly, I love these trees but I do not know if I can go on; please save me from this wretched fate!’

… and I’m all like ‘what? I couldn’t hear you, I was chilling in this tree.’

Such is the life of a dinosaur in Melbourne.

The cool kind of scientist

So it turns out, ecologists really do live the life. I’ve made fun of my NDF a lot of times for not studying a real science degree, for not technically having to wear a labcoat (you’re not really a scientist unless you wear a labcoat, right?), for not having to know or understand any basic chemical concept in order to achieve her BSc… but really, this week I think I’m just going to stop complaining temporarily.

You know why? Because ecologists go on wicked cool FIELD TRIPS.

Yes, I went to Darwin. I hopped around with the wallabies.
Yes, I go out to the arboretum behind the campus and fight with the rainbow lorikeets while the NDF labels three hundred trees.
Yes, I drive around in 4x4s feeling all Australian and territorial watching the weird Australian plants rush past the window.

But seriously, why didn’t anybody ever tell me that ecologists go to railway museums? And dine on fine wine and Italian antipasta dishes whilst lunching in a sun-drenched winery? Why didn’t anyone tell me that ecologists get to clamber all over waterfalls, sticking their feet in the water and playing poohsticks, all the while knowing that the university is paying for all of it?

WHY DON’T MORE OF THE WORLD’S SCIENTISTS GET IN ON THIS SWEET DEAL?

Seriously, ecologists have it made.

Old railway tracks for an old dinosaur. RARRRR.

It’s packed lunch time…. it’s PEANUT BUTTER (no jelly) TIME!

Harry Potter and the dinosaur ride to Australia

I am actually for real driving this train. It is moving and I pulled the whistle and everything. I AM THE FIRST (and probably last) DINOSAUR TRAIN DRIVER EVER.

More wine? Yes. Yes please.

I am beautiful. I am majestic. I am Tony, master of the creek, and one day the Lady of the Lake will be my wife.

Please appreciate that in lieu of an actual photo of the magnificent winery lunch, I’ve included a picture of my packed lunch most days of the week, for the simple reason that I was having way too much of a good time to waste time on taking photographs while I was eating.

I can’t believe that when ecologists go to serious ‘postgradute conferences’, what they really mean is ‘a chance to go and explore Australia and get the University to fund it’.

Australian ecologists are my new favourite people*. This may be a ridiculous country (that’s for sure, don’t even get me started on the way they make their beds, it’s full on weird) but it’s totally fun.

_________________________________________________________________________

*The NDF has hastened to point out that yes, British ecologists are rad people too. All hail the NDF and her irritating but nevertheless rich heritage.

 

 

I’m not cheating I’m being creative

George, George,
George of the Jungle,
Strong as he can be.
Watch out for that tree.

George, George,
George of the Jungle,
Lives a life that’s free.
Watch out for that tree.

Tony, Tony,
Tony of the soil lab,
He fits in your pocket.
Watch out for that electrical socket.

The dinosaur dog

I am walking on eggshells this week. The not-dinosaur-friend is irritable and unreasonable and arguing with me for no reason; I think those are signs of jealousy, but when I pointed that out to her she stopped talking to me, so I didn’t bring it up again.

It all started when she found this picture of me with her friends.

Ladies just lurve the dinosaur

I tried to tell her that hanging out with other people’s friends is normal, I tried to tell her that I want to have Australian-Dutch-Malaysian-and-every-other-country-besides friends, I tried to point out that she should be glad that the last surviving dinosaur on the face of the earth has found some people to welcome him into their arms.

But then she got all jealous and upset that I had all the friends and she had all the ownsome lonesomes. Is it not okay for me to spend loads of time with her friends behind her back and tell them that she is too busy to see them? All’s fair in love and war and I was just trying to get her out of the picture a bit so I could get some of that lady loving. Is it really that unreasonable to take the NDF’s friends and whisper secretly to them that the NDF has actually flown back to the UK, they would never see her again, and they now needed to spend all of their attention on me?

Somewhere there was a line, and I may have wandered over it. The line is not a dot to me. I don’t even know where the line is. But now I’m in the doghouse, and not sure how to fix it.

HELP.